


you know i'm gonna be okay

by AugustaByron



Series: soulmates 'verse [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Birthday, F/M, Fourth of July, Gen, M/M, Polyamory, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7371892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AugustaByron/pseuds/AugustaByron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been rocking at this soulmate thing, but it's Parse's birthday. What do you get for the man who has everything? Lardo's got a few ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you know i'm gonna be okay

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! In honor of the Fourth of July, here is a Kent Parson birthday story! This is a sequel to my other fic (hold on) when you get love, and will not make much sense without reading that first. 
> 
> Warnings: There is some mention of bondage and sex, although nothing explicit, so I didn't want to tag for it and disappoint people with a major fade to black. Mostly they talk about it. Also a general warning for dysfunctional relationships for Parse and Jack. Canon-typical levels of alcohol consumption. Please let me know if there's anything else that I should warn for!
> 
> Title from Miley Cyrus' Party in the USA (the only song we canonically know that Parse likes, that giant dork). 
> 
> Check, Please belongs to Ngozi Ukazu.

Shitty is totally freaking out about Parse's birthday.

Lardo takes a sip of her wine and watches him scroll frantically through Amazon. It's kind of awesome. Her wine is both pink and from a box, her soulmate is almost pulling out his mustache in frustration, and she's got an ace up her sleeve. Life is good.

“Fuck a duck,” Shitty mutters to his laptop screen. “Parse doesn't need anything! The only thing I can think of is a new cat palace for Kit, but she'd just sit in the box anyway.”

“You could just get him a box,” Lardo suggests. “He'd take a bunch of pictures of Kit and be really jazzed. Or, you know, fireworks. More fireworks.”

“Fuck,” Shitty says again. He sighs and closes his computer, puts it on the coffee table. When he makes grabby hands at her, Lardo puts her feet onto his lap. His hand traces soft lines on her ankle, and she shivers. The soulmark at the small of her back pulses, warm and happy. “I just want it to be good for him, you know?”

“He's had his Cup day on his birthday,” Lardo reminds him. “Twice. That's going to be hard to top. And it's also a holiday specifically about tax evasion and blowing shit up, so he's already happy as fuck.”

Plus, and Lardo is pretty sure she's not just being smug here, she's got a feeling this is the best time Parse has ever had at his summer house. This place is gorgeous, a really classy old colonial with at least three acres of land around it, and definitely decorated by a professional, but alone? It would be a fucking mausoleum. With her and Shitty, it's fairly awesome. Parse wakes up smiling.

“I know,” Shitty says. He slumps back against Parse's ridiculous overstuffed leather couch. It's the second comfiest thing in the world, after Parse's ridiculous astronaut bed. Lardo fucking loves it. She's spent way too much of her summer on this couch. The rest of the time she's out on Parse's private beach, or hiking on the trails around Cayuga Lake, or working in the room that Parse converted into a studio for her. They haven't partied too much this summer, it's been really relaxing.

Parse basically lives in an old people town, full of wine tours and B&Bs, and it's amazing. Lardo was kind of surprised the first time she and Shitty came out here to visit, but now it makes a lot of sense. Parse goes out all the time in Vegas, is always surrounded by lights and noise. When it's summer, he comes here and chills out.

Of course, it's also Parse, and his birthday, so in a week fully half of the Las Vegas Aces will be descending on them, plus any members of Team USA that feel like making the trip. Not to mention Parse's mom and little sister, and all of his little sister's college friends. And assorted others, Shitty's mom not least among them.

“Do you just want to put your name on what I got him?” Lardo asks, taking pity on Shitty's hangdog look. She's such a sucker.

“Yes,” Shitty says immediately. “Yes, please.”

Lardo relaxes back into the couch. “Okay. Let me tell you the plan.”

 

Kent loves his fucking birthday. Because, you know, it's also America's birthday. Fuck yeah. When he was a kid it meant that there was always something fun happening: swimming, a cookout in his uncle's backyard, fireworks. Now, it means he's had excuses for the most epic Cup days ever when it's his turn, and that he gets to throw a really kickass party without anyone chirping him for having fireworks on his birthday.

Koves is in fucking Russia, like always, so it's his loss, but Garbo and Beth and the kids are coming. Plus Lundy and Mia, and a few of the rookies. Hally claims he'll still be drunk from Canada Day, but he RSVP'd yes, so either he's showing up or Kent booked him a room at the bed and breakfast in vain. It's going to be awesome. Maybe not quite as awesome as birthdays that also include Lord Stanley, but--

Lardo and Shitty will be here. That'll be cool. It's not like they weren't here last year, but they just popped in and out for the weekend because Shitty had to be back in Samwell for his internship on Monday. This year, they're living with Kent, and Shitty took a whole week off from his internship at County Office of Human Rights. Lardo let him clean out a room for her to use as a studio. Their toothbrushes are next to Kent's in the bathroom, and have been for a month.

It's going to be awesome, is what Kent's saying.

Speaking of which:

Kent wakes up with Lardo's long hair brushing his face, her warm weight above him. Shitty's long body is absent from the bed, but when Kent opens his eyes he can see his boyfriend at the dresser, back turned.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you,” Lardo singsongs, and leans down to kiss him. She keeps it chaste in deference to morning breath, and Kent's heart feels like it's about to explode. His right hand tingles. Then Lardo's smirking down at him, which is always promising. “Brush your teeth and shower, we've got a birthday treat planned for you before your friends get here.”

“I invited your friends, too,” Kent protests. Holster and Ransom are coming. They've got rooms waiting, anyway.

“Shower,” Lardo says, merciless. She smacks his hip, and Kent twitches.

“Yes, ma'am,” he snarks, and goes off to shower. Shitty pulls Kent in for a long hug on his way to the master bathroom, which is cool. Kent's feeling the birthday love.

When Kent gets back from the bathroom, squeaky clean, Shitty and Lardo are making out in their underwear. Kent is always in favor of this, so he drops his towel and moves to join them.

“Uh uh,” Lardo says, breaking away from Shitty and wagging her finger at him. Kent stops, dick twitching. Lardo's bra is pale blue, Shitty is wearing boxer briefs that cling to his ass. “I thought we could do something special. You know, for your birthday.”

“I'm listening.” Lardo's ideas have always been good. Kent has always been good at recognizing when someone is smarter than him, and in this case that someone is also invested in getting everyone naked. It's pretty awesome.

“You know that thing you've been wanting to try?” Shitty asks. He's lying across the bed, Lardo curled against him. There's a lot of skin on display. Kent's still not over it: the fact that he can look over, reach over, and they're there, waiting for him. Both of them want him, he's a part of this. He's got to look into getting traded to New England when he goes UFA, or else convincing them to move to Vegas. This summer has changed things. 

Then Shitty's word's actually register, and Kent's mind snaps to the here and now.

“You mean that thing where you tie me up?”

“That thing,” Lardo says, getting up from the bed and crossing over to where Kent's standing to kiss him, long and dirty, “where you let us take care of you. Because we love you.”

“I love you, too. And, yeah.” Kent's got an armful of Lardo, always a spectacular thing, and it's his birthday. “Right now?”

“Why do you think I had you shower?” Lardo asks, grinning. “And then we'll go get breakfast.”

Kent's so fucking lucky.

 

“And that's how Kent got banned from the last putt-putt place in town,” Kelly says, finishing her story with a smirk. Shitty is fucking dying, here, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes. His sides hurt from laughing.

“This is the thanks I get,” Parse complains. He's cutting into his breakfast: patriotic waffles loaded with strawberries and blueberries, plus whipped cream. He already polished off a bunch of eggs and bacon, which the waitress arranged like a smiley face. She's got a soft spot for Parse. “I invite you to my home, I let you bring your hipster friends, and you mock me.”

“They need to know,” Kelly says, merciless. She looks like Parse: freckles, blonde, conventionally pretty. She has good arms. It's the first time that Shitty's met her in person. Lardo's done better with that, she and Kelly met at an Aces game a few months ago. Shitty couldn't go because he had a stupid torts test.

“We know he's a disaster,” Lardo says. “We're keeping him anyway.” She smiles at Kelly, who grins back.

“Good. No refunds,” Kelly says. “And my friends aren't hipsters, dork, they just don't care about sports.”

“Who doesn't like sports?” Parse grouses. Shitty can't help laughing again, which makes Kelly take her attention off her brother and put it onto him.

“So, you're in law school, right?” Kelly asks. She's slathering butter onto a piece of toast, but she doesn't look away from Shitty's face.

“Harvard,” Shitty confirms. God, he sounds like such a douchebag.

“You must be pretty smart,” Kelly says. “Plus you went to Samwell for undergrad, right?”

And this is a lot like Parse, too: she's got a really good polite smile. Kent uses it for media events. It looks like Kelly uses it to interview her brother's boyfriend over breakfast.

“Oh my god,” Parse groans. He points threateningly at his sister. “I am going to the bathroom. I will be back in like five minutes. You will be done with this shit by then.”

And then he fucking abandons Shitty, like a total dick. Lardo, still eating her pancakes, pats Shitty on the hand supportively.

The second Parse is out of the booth, Kelly says, “You're friends with Jack Zimmermann.” Her face and voice are completely neutral. She could even teach Bitty a thing or two about quiet menace, and that's saying something.

“Best friends,” Shitty agrees. That'll never change, no matter what. “I hear that you're not his biggest fan, though.” The exact words that Parse used were 'grudge of the century.'

Kelly hums, noncommittal. “I wouldn't say that. I loved him when I was little. I didn't like the way he smashed my brother's heart into tiny little pieces, but they were kids. I really don't like the way he acted like a shithead whenever Kenny tried to make it right later on.”

There's not a lot that Shitty can debate, there. He looks over to Lardo, who shrugs. Unhelpful, Lards. Totally unhelpful.

“Jack's got a lot of issues,” he says, which is true. Even though, in Shitty's opinion, Jack has acted like a jealous ass about the whole Parse situation. It's not like Parse has ever talked about it in any detail, so he can't say whether or not there's a different story at play anywhere. But Shitty is never going to not love Jack, so what can he say?

“I wasn't kidding, you know,” Kelly says, sharp. “No refunds. You can't give him back now, not after you told him all this shit about how not having a mark doesn't mean you don't love him.”

“I'm not planning to ever give him back,” Shitty says, annoyed, and then stops short. He knows that his mouth is hanging open, which is probably really unattractive. But fuck. It's the first time that thought has occurred to him in a whole form, organic.

“Is he having a conniption or what?” Kelly asks Lardo.

“Yep,” Lardo says. She tousles Shitty's hair, and fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He wants to be with her and Parse. Like, romantic style, and _forever_. He's pretty sure he wants to die first so he doesn't ever have to deal with life without them. It's fucking terrifying. It's not that Shitty doesn't know that he loves Lardo and Parse, but this is some next level shit. “Don't worry, he'll get over it. Boys are just a little slow. Breathe, Shits, it'll pass. I had this freakout a while ago.”

“Which is why I wasn't mean to you,” Kelly says, but she sounds amused now, not like she's planning on taking Shitty out back and beating him to death. She props her chin up on her fist and adds, “Wow, is he stuck like that?”

“I--” Shitty says. His throat is dry. He gulps some of his coffee, winces at the heat of it, and tries again. “I don't think we're going to have a problem, there.”

“Good,” Kelly chirps, cheerful again. Her real smile is a lot like Parser's, too. “Now, do you guys know about the time he tried to hide a kitten in his room? He made it like three days before our mom heard the meowing.”

“That was worth it,” Parse says. He plops back into the booth next to his sister and kisses her on the side of the head. His arm is slung over the back of the booth, his whole body relaxed. Two hours ago, Shitty was tying Kent to the headboard and giving him the world's longest, slowest blowjob, and now he's wondering if it would be weird to propose within the year. 

“You didn't get to keep the cat,” Kelly reminds Parse.

“It was good practice,” Kent argues. “Did you get the picture of Kit that I sent you? Of her asleep on top of all the fireworks?”

“I'm pretty sure we're all going to get arrested for those,” Lardo says. “We should have gotten a permit. Or bribed the cops.”

“The pyrotechnics guy got a permit,” Shitty says, his brain coming back online. He's still having to regulate his breathing. “I think we just have to worry about setting the house on fire.”

“That's no big,” Lardo says, waving off his concerns. “Parse'll just buy us all a new house.”

“He tried to buy me a house two months ago. Like, hello, I'm twenty years old. Does he pull that shit with you guys? You've gotta spray him with a water bottle if he gets out of hand.” Kelly rolls her eyes, and Shitty can't help smiling.

He has a feeling he's going to like being part of this family.

 

The one problem about publicly being Parse's soulmate, Lardo reflects as she drinks her beer and tries to pay attention to Beth and Mia talking about how to work around diet plans, is that all the WAGs want to include her. Which is awesome, don't get her wrong, Lardo loves being friends with women. Beth and Mia are supes awesome.

But Shitty would be much better at this part. He cares about Parse's diet plan. Lardo knows, deep in her bones, that if they ever wind up with kids Shitty is going to be the one who stays home for a few years, the one who gets way too into the PTA, the one who has firm opinions on which type of juice is the best for kids, the one who wears the baby in a sling.

So Lardo is busy contemplating a way to covertly switch places with Shitty—Beth, at least, knows for sure that Kent has both a boyfriend and a girlfriend, and has always been beyond cool about it—when Parse pops up out of nowhere and scares the shit out of her.

“Hey, ladies,” Parse says. He kisses Beth's cheek, then slings an arm over Lardo's shoulder. She lets him steal her beer, since he gives it back after a sip. Not like Shitty, who's a total thief. “Can I borrow her for a minute?”

“No,” Beth says. “We like Larissa better than you, we're keeping her.”

“I feel that,” Parse agrees. “But I'm still stealing her, get your own.”

With that, Lardo's being whisked away down the beach. The party is in full swing, the summer night turning slowly to twilight around them, and Parse is glowing and happy, surrounded by friends and family. There's a table full of gifts that haven't been opened yet, and a delicious cake that disappeared down the throats of hockey players on a cheat day.

Lardo still thinks, watching how loose and open Parse is, how free he is with his grins, that her gift was the best. He's been so happy since this morning. And part two should be coming any time now. Although, if it doesn't, it's not like Parse is expecting anything more.

“What's up?” Lardo asks, when it seems like Parse just wanted to walk up to the lake shore with her and not actually say anything.

Parse takes Lardo's hand. Her left hand. He plays with her fingers and stares at her soulmark, which is pulsing with delighted teals and aquamarines.

“I just wanted to see you,” Parse says. His smile makes Lardo's heart pound. She thinks about the first time she met him: bitter and guarded, wearing his public face in the Haus, so hopeful under it all. And then she thinks about him this morning, with awe in his eyes when she untied him, when she kissed his wrists where they were red.

She actually thought that he wasn't part of the plan, Lardo realizes. She's never felt so fucking stupid, so blindsided. A huge part of her wants to reach for her phone, cancel the second part of the present, take it back.Maybe Shitty was right to freak out this morning, and he doesn't even know about what's going to happen soon.

But no. This is about Parse. Lardo can suck it up, whatever happens. She wants him to be happy.

“You see me all the time, lamer,” she tells him, knocking into him with her shoulder. He laughs, moves with it, pretends she can send him off balance. “Maybe you should go talk to your friends, you haven't seen them in forever.”

“My friends suck,” Parse says. “They all chirped the hell out of me for being all gooey about you and Shits.” He pulls her close and kisses the top of her head. Lardo buries her face in his chest for a second to hide her stupid blush.

“You deserve it,” Lardo tells him. “You don't see them making fun of me. That's because I've got a little thing called dignity, man.”

“You can keep it,” Parse says. And Lardo's got to kiss him for that, and grab his ass a little, until she hears a catcall. Probably Lundy, who should know better. Lardo can drink him under the table.

But when she breaks away to remind Lundy of this fact, Lardo sees Holster and Ransom instead.

“Get it, Lards!” Ransom hollers at her. “Don't let us stop you!”

“Let us stop you,” says a voice that Lardo would recognize anywhere. Her heart starts to beat faster, and Parse grabs her hand, squeezes too hard.

“Hey, Zimms,” Parse says. Lardo's soulmark is warm: not the angry blistering heat of real distress, but enough that she's aware of it.

“Hi, Kent,” Jack says. He steps out from where he was lurking behind Holster. “Keep it above the waist, Lardo. There are children around.”

He's smiling enough that it even sounds like a joke, not like when Jack tries to joke but his natural awkwardness turns it mean. Lardo's heart twists, hoping that Parse realizes--

Parse is laughing. “Like you have room to talk, all think of the children, dude. Don't you remember that time--”

“That was an accident,” Jack says, cutting him off. “I didn't mean to knock him down, it's not like I was trying to check a ten year old--”

“Tell that to the boards,” Parse says, and yes. Yes, yes, yes. Lardo's hand is cooling down, back to its normal temperature, and Parse is smiling.

“Happy birthday, Kenny,” Jack says, soft and sincere, his blue eyes shining. Parse lets up on his stranglehold of Lardo's hand, steps towards Jack.

“Thanks, Zimms. You want to see the place?”

What do you get for the man who has everything? Bondage and an overdue conversation, apparently. Lardo watches her soulmate walk off down the beach, with his other soulmate, and totally does not feel jealous. Seriously.

“Dude,” Lardo says to Ransom and Holster, once she's done staring after Parse and Jack like a creeper. “Let's find Shitty. Haus doubles rematch, let's go.”

 

Kent takes his shoes off once they're far enough away from the party. Who the fuck is he trying to impress, anyway? The sand is cool and damp beneath his feet. Jack stands there and watches him. There's something about him, now, something that Kent hasn't seen since they were kids, stupid in love and stupid in general.

“You're fucking smiling,” Kent realizes, struggling with his Sperrys.

“You're hopping,” Jack points out, smirking.

“Yuk it up, asshole,” Kent says, finally freeing himself. He leaves his shoes on top of a giant rock. He'll come get them later, and it's not he doesn't have more up at the house. “Why are you so happy? I thought you'd be, you know.”

Every time he's met Zimms on the ice this year, it's been all intensity and loaded looks, and that bastard actually winning at faceoffs. Fucker. Up until like two seconds ago, Kent kind of assumed that Zimms went home and did pushups alone every night, that his whole damn life was way too serious.

“I'm not like that anymore. Not really,” Zimms says, reading the play like always, understanding Kent without effort. Fuck, he's missed this, not having to always say shit.

Although, Kent remembers, saying shit is sometimes awesome. This morning flashes across his brain, and he tells his dick to quiet down. Plus, there's all the times that he and Zimms didn't understand each other, after all. Just because he can't really look at Jack without wanting to kiss him, without remembering how good it used to be, doesn't mean that they're actually any good at being around each other.

“I'm actually seeing somebody,” Jack adds. He fishes out his phone and shows Kent the lock screen: some blond guy, tiny but swole, tucked into Jack's side at what looks like a county fair, Ferris wheel picturesque in the background.

Kent recognizes the guy, too: it's Bitty, Lardo and Shitty's friend, who is by all accounts the nicest dude to ever walk the earth. Of course Zimms likes him. The rush of jealousy comes all at once, white hot and ugly.

“What, does it help that he looks like me?” Kent snaps, and immediately feels like shit when Zimms visibly recoils. Fuck, fuck, of course.

“He's not my soulmate,” Zimms says. He puts his phone back in his pocket after cradling it for a second, like it's something precious. Something that Kent just basically shat all over, fuck. Good thing Garbo is here for the traditional post-Zimms cleanup. Looks like he'll need it. 

“It's—nice. Being able to choose,” Jack says, more to the ocean than to Kent.

Yeah. Kent gets that.

“Look, I'm sorry. I was jealous. I shouldn't have said that.” And then, even though he almost chokes on it, he manages to add, “I'm really fucking glad you're happy, Zimms.”

Shitty would be so proud, if Kent ever planned to talk about this conversation, which, no way. Doing it this once is way more than enough, he has no desire to relive it.

Zimms nods, accepting the apology. “We've both said a lot of awful things to each other.”

That's the understatement of the year. Kent's chest burns, and he resists the urge to rub his mark. How much of the way Kent and Zimms kept making shit worse between them, Kent wonders, was because they were both so goddamn miserable they couldn't see straight? And is it going to be any better now that they're doing okay? Or are they so out of practice they're going to keep being horrible to each other forever?

That's way too heavy for tonight, though. It's a party. It's Kent's goddamn birthday. 

“Dude, the fireworks are going to be great,” Kent says. “I hired a dude. I'm not sure any of it's legal.”

“I'm not bailing you out if you get arrested,” Zimms says immediately, like he's been sitting on that one for a while. Kent surprises himself by laughing.

“I think Shitty's got that covered,” Kent says. “Let him practice his lawyering skills a little.”

They start to head back to the party, walking along the shore, and Kent's chest is just—nothing. Like Zimms isn't even right next to him. It's terrible.

He's got to fucking fix this.

“Race you,” Kent says, and then pushes Zimms into the surf. He takes off running, sprinting down the beach, while Zimms sputters and coughs behind him.

“You're a filthy rotten cheater, Parse!” Zimms bellows. Then there's just the sound of heavy footfalls on the sand behind him, Jack working to catch up. Kent is totally going to win.

For the first time in a long time, the mark on Kent's chest feels good.

 

Lardo's great plan turns out to be inviting Jack to Parse's party. Shitty kind of wants to call the whole thing off but it's way too late. He's pretty sure that this can only end in tears. Last time the Aces played the Falcs, Kent got all tight-lipped and pissy for a solid week.

Shitty is not worried about any alternative outcomes, okay, until he sees Parser and Jack charge back into the main party, both of them soaked with seawater and laughing so hard they can't talk, draped around each other for support.

And like, jealousy is stupid and petty, it implies ownership and only stems from his own insecurities, but holy shit. Shitty is so jealous he could spit. Yesterday, if someone had asked him, he would have said Parse and Jack making up would be the best thing ever. Now, though. Fuck. It's awful. What if Parse--

“Hey,” he says, patting Holster on the shoulder. Ransom and Lardo are duking it out in a singles beer pong rematch, having declared Shitty and Holster dead weight, and that leaves Shitty free to just—wander over to his boyfriend and his best friend, no big deal, just to say hi. “I'm gonna go over there.”

“Sure, dude,” Holster agrees, not paying attention. He's watching Lardo aim her next ball. “Have fun. Grab me another beer? Go, Justin!”

“You bet.” Shitty does stop by one of the kegs on his way over to Kent and Jack, but he just refills his own Solo cup. Casual. He'll get Holster a bottle in a second, like a fancy motherfucker. He just wants to say hi first.

“I won,” Jack is saying, smug. He's smiling down at Parse in this way that makes Shitty's heart ache, because yeah: Jack is happy, which is always positive. He's happy in what looks like an uncomplicated way, too, which is even better. And Kent is smiling back, which is of course awesome. It's his birthday. He should be happy.

“You did not, you fucking liar,” Kent says, beaming back at Jack. He's slick from water, his hair already curling in the heat. His shirt is clinging to all that summer muscle in a way that, frankly, is indecent. Shitty would like to lodge a complaint, or maybe just feel Kent up.

“Yo,” Shitty says. He hesitates, which is dumb, because Kent turns that gorgeous smile onto him, easy as pie. Shitty slides an arm around Kent's waist. “Did you two go swimming?”

“Sort of,” Jack says.

"Zimms tried to drown me," Parse adds.

“You started it. How are you, Shits?” Jack asks.

Canadians. “I'm good, man,” Shitty says, amused. “Not a lot's changed since yesterday. You know, when we Skyped?”

Although Jack managed to keep this little trip to New York under his hat, the fucker. Shitty thought that he and Bitty were still in Montreal. According to Lardo, Bitty is also around here somewhere, most likely with Bad Bob and Alicia.

“Manners, Shits,” Kent says. He's smiling, and his shoulders are still loose. He looks happy, lit up. Shitty has never wanted a mark on Parse as badly as he does in this moment. It would be nice to have a cheat sheet to what he's feeling. “Some of us have them.”

“Oh, and we're including you in that _us_ , are we?” Jack scoffs. But—get this—Kent just laughs. Shitty is amazed. Usually even mentioning Jack leads to unendurable angst.

“Are you both drunk? Am I drunk?” Shitty asks.

Parse snorts and leans in closer. “Oh, you're definitely drunk, dude. Speaking of which, I'm going to go get this lush some water. But are you sticking around tomorrow? Lunch?”

“Yeah, I'll text you,” Jack agrees. Shitty wants to go to that lunch, because he doesn't get to see Jack enough. But he also thinks that it will be the most awkward thing ever, and probably get Parse and Jack banned from wherever they go to, and he doesn't really want to be involved in that shit. He likes all the restaurants in town.

“C'mon, Shits,” Parse murmurs, and drags Shitty over to the coolers. He digs out a bottle of cold water and presses it into Shitty's hand. “Did you try to play drinking games with Lardo? Because that's a goddamn rookie mistake.”

Like Shitty doesn't know, come on. Who is he, the entire Aces roster?

“We were on the same team,” he protests, but he drinks the water. It's crisp and cold, and helps him get his head on straight. “Did you and Jack have a nice talk?”

“Something like that,” Parse says. “Did you invite him?”

“Lardo did.” Shitty is pretty sure he doesn't want his name on the card, after all. His stomach twists up, nerves and guilt. “We didn't know what else to get you for your birthday.” He does jazz hands, a little ta-da motion, and spills half his water onto the sand in the process.

Kent laughs. “You know, it was actually pretty great. I always wanted Zimms to come to my birthday parties. You know, so I could finally win the great Fourth of July versus Canada Day debate.”

That's definitely not why Kent wanted Jack here, but Shitty's not going to press the issue right now. The knot in his gut eases, though. Looks like they didn't ruin Parse's birthday.

“When are we going to get this show on the road?” Lardo asks, popping up from behind them. Shitty reaches for her, a touchstone, and she graciously lets herself be pulled into a group hug. “I was promised explosions, Parse.”

“Should be anytime,” Parser says, checking his watch. “The fireworks guy said like half an hour after dark.”

It's definitely dark, the only real light coming from the bonfire and a line of tiki torches winding up the beach and illuminating the path to the house. Shitty thinks there's a blanket somewhere that they could sit on. Or they could just chill here with each other, that would be cool.

Sure enough, as soon as Shitty has thought about that, the first burst of color lights up the sky. The guests cheer, and Shitty plops into the sand. Parse, caught unaware, gets dragged down, too. He goes sprawling over Shitty's lap, and he laughs as he rights himself.

“We can cuddle later, I want to watch the show,” Kent says, but he doesn't protest when Shitty tugs him back to rest against his chest, far down enough that Shitty can rest his chin on top of Parse's head. He wraps one arm securely around Parse's chest.

“Spread 'em, Parson,” Lardo says, and nestles between Kent's legs, leans back against him. Shitty's kind of supporting the weight of a hockey player and also Lardo, who is surprisingly solid for such a little person, but it's cool. There's basically no place he'd rather be.

“This is nice,” Shitty says, not sure what else to say. It is: the party, and the fireworks, and basically all his favorite people in one place.

“Happy birthday to me,” Kent says.

“Happy birthday to you,” Lardo agrees. “Now shush, Harvard, I want to ooh and ahh at some pretty lights.”

Shitty can do that. He tips his gaze up to the sky, and watches the fireworks. They can talk later.

They've got time.

 

**Author's Note:**

> *whispers into the void* Does anyone want to beta my Big Bang fic? Hit me up in the comments for contact info.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [you know i'm gonna be okay [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9100177) by [Emlemony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emlemony/pseuds/Emlemony)




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